The Fall of Gondolin - A Silmarillion ballad

Jonathan | April 2, 2003

The sun was bright, and warm the light on Gondolin the fairWhen Turgon King, of whom they sing, sat high on silver chair.How white the walls and high the halls of Gondolin that was!Above the wars, it shone of stars, but now no longer does.

O elven king! Your rule is greatBut 'ware of Ulmo's call:Love not too much what thou hast wroughtLest it to darkness fall.

In peace they stayed and never strayed from Gondolin their homeFor leaguer kept, a princess wept, and gained her leave to roam.Returning well, Ar-Feniel brought home with her a sonBoth tall of stance and sharp of glance: the city's doom had come.

O Maeglin! Son of dark and lightYou came and may not part,For love of Idril Silver-footHas darkened in your heart.

His love grew strong, he waited long, but love she never gaveTo him, and dark then was his heart, although his deeds were brave.To mortal man went Idril's hand, and Maeglin's anger grew;In captive fear, to Morgoth's ear, he whispered all he knew.

O Morgoth! Melkor once you were,O captain dark and fellEru's favor once you hadBut now in darkness dwell.

At Morgoth's call came Balrogs tall, with swords of evil flameThey burned with hate and to the Gates of Gondolin they came.The gates they broke, the city woke, and into terror fellAn elf-lord slew the first one through, but gave his life as well.

Ecthelion! Your silver swordDid vanquish well your foeBut bitter was the price you paidYour song doth end in woe.

His heart grown cold, dark Maeglin stole fair Idril and her sonBut Tuor strove to save his love, and killed the faithless one.To orkish bane and dragon flame so many elves fell preyThough courage quailed and children wailed, they led the rest away.

O Gondolin! Your banners proudLie mired in the mudAnd Turgon who your high gates wroughtHath bought them with his blood.

A shadow fell, but Glorfindel did stand upon the pathAnd there he fought in battle hot on Cirith ThoronathThe shadowed death, whose burning breath did thrice the elf-lord smite;His honor won, the battle done, he perished in the night.

As Manwë warned, the people mourned for those they lost that dayFor Turgon fell, and Glorfindel, and Ecthelion the feyNow lost to time in all but rhyme is Gondolin the fairWhere now the walls, where now the halls, where now the silver chair?

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